


Not Without a Bang...

by rivendellrose



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Poetry (Not Mine), Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:57:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9137176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivendellrose/pseuds/rivendellrose
Summary: Originally posted on Livejournal in August of 2006.Marcus and Lennier, dealing with the end of their respective worlds.The quoted poetry is all from T.S. Eliot'sThe Hollow Men, with exception of the line Marcus quotes at the very beginning, which is from Lord Byron'sShe Walks in Beauty.





	

_This form, this face, this life_  
_Living to live in a world of time beyond me; let me_  
 _Resign my life for this life, my speech for that unspoken,_  
 _The awakened, lips parted, the hope, the new ships._

* * * 

 _’She walks in beauty like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies..._ ’ Marcus smiled. _And she’d have my entrails for boot strings if she knew I’d thought of Byron anywhere near her, let alone in her honor._

Loving a woman like Susan Ivanova was, to say the least, something of an adventure.

He’d thought at first that it was the whole ranger thing that bothered her - that she mistrusted him because he was unfamiliar, because he was (to her mind) a civilian, because he was an outsider in this strange but tight little family Sheridan had created at the edges of everything. In those early days, he’d assumed that she would come around in a few days and realize that he was harmless to her and her friends, and useful against their enemies. At some point it had become clear to him that it wasn’t going to be that easy... and around the same time, he’d realized that he wanted more than ever to make sure that she _did_ come to trust him, to like him. To accept him as part of the family, yes, but more than that. And she was equally determined to do exactly the opposite.

 _I can convince one of the most notoriously prideful and enigmatic races in the galaxy to trust me with their cultural secrets, but I can’t coax one human woman into letting me into her heart. The irony is astonishing._ And, of course, entirely fitting to the way his life had always run - nothing was ever simple, was it? Marcus Cole couldn’t fall in love with just _any_ woman, he had to choose the most beautiful, hard-nosed, arrogant (and rightly so), sardonic goddess of war he could ever have imagined. No sense doing a thing by halves - if he was going to have his heart exploded into tiny slivers, it might just as well be by the best.

He’d had so many plans, so many ideas of how he could bring her around. Even if it didn’t eventually win her affection, he knew that at least he could make her smile, and the few times he’d seen that brilliant grin had convinced him that’d be more than worth whatever effort it took. Bacon and eggs had made an impression, so what about chocolates? That was the benefit of having so many contacts... it might take time and money, but he was certain he could eventually get hold of just about anything he put his mind to. Anything that might knock at the door of her heart.

In a week or two, one of his contacts would bring the box of bourbon cherries he’d ordered... a damned expensive luxury, especially with the trade embargo on. Unfortunately, it looked as though he wouldn’t be down below to pick them up. It didn’t much look as though he’d be anywhere.

His smile faltered, and he tested the familiar weight of his pike, more for comfort than for any need of it. Weapons wouldn’t do a damn against this enemy, not anymore. _It should have been me._ It couldn’t have, of course - it wasn’t a matter of a fight or an enemy, not really - another example of that perfect irony of the universe, that after all they’d gone through they would be hit by nothing more nefarious than a piece of debris left over from an already-vanquished warship. That Susan Ivanova would be felled by such a simple foe as inertia. _Figures. It’d be too easy for her to be attacked by a dragon or something. A woman as stubborn as her, it has to be the whole bloody castle falling on top of her. Figuratively speaking, that is._

One of Franklin’s nurses groaned softly. Marcus bent down and regarded her solemnly. “I’m sorry for this,” he informed the woman. “But it’s easier this way. No one can blame you for what I’m about to do if you’re unconscious.”

She didn’t answer, of course. A Minbari fighting staff to the head had a knack for ending conversations rather abruptly, especially when wielded by a sufficiently motivated ranger.

“It’s better this way.” Marcus turned back to Susan, laying battered and unconscious on the examination table, and brushed his fingers just once through her long dark hair. One last look, one last memory to carry with him. He folded his free arm on the table, leaned his cheek against it so he could stay upright and watch her as long as possible. Without her, life would be too long.

“I love you.” Simple words for a simple decision. And then he activated the machine, and slipped away without a sound.

* * *

 _We are the hollow men_  
_We are the stuffed men_  
 _Leaning together_  
 _Headpieces filled with straw. Alas!_

“I’m sorry about this... If I’d gotten here faster--”

“I understand, Doctor.” Lennier touched the ranger’s cloak, then delicately unclasped the brooch that stood for his calling. “I had feared that he might do something drastic, but I didn’t know what he could do.”

“I didn’t think of it until I’d heard,” Franklin admitted. The human sounded as though his teeth were gritted together. “I mean, we all knew how he felt about her, but I didn’t think he’d go so far as to just leave like that, turn around from battle and come back here. And I sure as _hell_ didn’t think he’d try something this stupid.”

 _Wouldn’t you do the same? For one you loved?_ But now was not the time for that question. Lennier’s fingertips traced the framing figures of Marcus’s brooch - one human, one Minbari, joined in one figure at the center. It did not seem to bleed as the stories said, but Lennier was too familiar with myth and metaphor to discount the story completely for only what he could see with his eyes.

“He had no family?”

“None living,” Franklin agreed. “I have Zach checking his records for any sort of will and testament, but there’s nothing so far.”

“I suspect he will find nothing. He had very little in the way of possessions. His robes, this brooch, his staff... Rangers try not to burden themselves with objects of this world beyond what is necessary for their lifestyle.”

“I guess that’s good, since we won’t know what to do with any of it. I’d say that he’d probably want it to go to Susan, but...” The doctor trailed off and shook his head. “I’m not sure she’d take it. She’s not happy with what he did. Can’t blame her, either... she feels like his death is on her conscience, now.”

Lennier helped the doctor pull a thin silver cloth back over the ranger’s body. Strange, this obsession with covering, hiding the signs of death. At home, he would be carried, uncovered, out to the temple so that all along the way could see him and recognize his honor and sacrifice. That last part of the story, at least, he understood. “He chose this end, out of love for her and devotion to his ideals. Among our people, there is no greater honor than willing sacrifice for another. If it is meant to be, we believe they will meet again where no shadows fall.” He almost expected the doctor to argue that Marcus was human, not Minbari, but at least that argument was to be spared.

“I know. But she feels like it’s another layer of burden on her, because she didn’t feel the same way.” Franklin opened one of the cryo-chambers that had been emptied after they’d sent away the thirty telepaths for Mars. “Unrequited love... do you know what she said, when I talked to her earlier? We were talking about Marcus, about what happened, and she said, ‘all love is unrequited.’ I guess that’s one way of looking at it, huh?”

That was one way. Blinking slowly, Lennier broke the paralysis of those words, turned away from the cryo-chamber and moved - slowly, as if in a dream - back toward the door.

“You alright?”

“I am fine, Doctor. Thank you. I must go... If you find nothing in his belongings to indicate what he wanted done with his body, please inform us. I am sure Delenn would gladly send him home to Minbar for a proper cremation ceremony.” He folded his hands and bowed, turned and left the medbay as quickly as he could. _I need air_ , he thought - the one thing he could not find, here on the station. Even in the gardens the air lacked the crisp, clean sharpness of air at home on Minbar. This recycled air would do nothing to clear his head of the stuffy, thick feeling that had come upon him.

_Meditation. I must light candles and clear my head... I must have peace._

The image of Marcus lingered in his mind, however - leaning against the wall of his favorite down-below drinking hole, bodies of unconscious lurkers strewn around him like so many straw figures, and the words of Lennier’s confession echoing in the air. _We are perhaps more alike than we seemed on that day. I only hope that he was not right about my oath._

* * *

 _Between the desire_  
_And the spasm_  
 _Between the potency_  
 _And the existence_  
 _Between the essence_  
 _And the descent_  
 _Falls the Shadow._

In that moment, he had nearly told her. It had been in his mind to say it, to simply speak the words that had sat so long in the center of his mind that he no longer thought of them as words, but as a rhythm and truth as natural to him as the beating of his heart. A breath, a pulse, a love greater than everything else in his heart.

He knew that it would do nothing to speak the words, but in that instant it was all he could do to keep them behind his lips. The truth too easily voiced itself.

But he had restrained himself, of course. He was good at that, at resisting temptation by long practice. Long nights alone had trained him, long hours watching her had strengthened his heart, and longer evenings listening to her and Sheridan together, struggling to keep his mind on the necessary prayers... had tried his skills and patience to a fine blade of concentration on what was right, what was pure, what she wanted. And so he told her instead the words Susan Ivanova had spoken, and tucked the pain of his heart into another’s voice.

 _She’s wrong, you know._ Of course. What love could Delenn ever give that wouldn’t be returned as naturally as a crystal reflects the light of the sun? It was impossible to imagine that anyone could _not_ love her, once they had known the warmth of her smile, the softness of her voice, her gentle wisdom and compassion. All that she gave the world, she deserved to have given back to her in multitudes. And what better devotion for him? He was a Minbari - no culture he knew of had ever been built so solidly on the virtues of selfless duty.

And now, with the war over, there was plenty of work to distract him from untoward concerns. Armed with a list of questions and requests from the various ambassadors of the new alliance, Lennier went in search of Delenn with a light heart, relieved that for a time, now, she would have the peaceful tasks that she deserved. The door to her temporary quarters aboard the second White Star were open when he arrived, and without thinking he rounded the corner into the room.

“Delenn, I--” The words caught in his throat as he realized she was not alone. Sheridan. Of course. Lennier stopped in the doorway and immediately cast his eyes to the floor, but not quickly enough not to see and remember the tableau before him. The captain - now president - held Delenn clasped tightly against his chest, bent down close to her while she, unbelievably tiny and delicate when seen pressed against the human, stretched up to meet his lips with hers. They turned to him, and both smiled. Captain Sheridan looked vaguely embarrassed. Delenn, as usual, was serene.

“Forgive me. It can wait.” Which was fortunate, as he wasn’t sure anymore that he could remember what message had sent him to her side to begin with. Something about the alliance? No, something less pressing than that... Their fingers twined together distracted him completely.

“No, that’s quite alright, Lennier. Come in.” Delenn gestured toward the beds, leaning back against one of them and tugging Sheridan back beside her. “What is it?”

“I...” _Don’t remember?_ No, that would never do. _Love you_ , his heart insisted. He ignored it, something else he was getting quite good at, these past months. “...Wanted you to know that we will arrive at Babylon 5 in three days’ time,” he continued as smoothly as possible. Desperate, but considering the mischief in her eyes, he doubted that she would pay enough attention to notice that he would not likely have sought her out to tell such simple information.

If possible, her smile grew even brighter. “Thank you. That will be plenty of time, I’m sure.”

“...Time?” Had he also forgotten some vital negotiation or preparation that was to occur before they got back?

“For a wedding. A simple one,” Sheridan clarified quickly, as though afraid to impose his ceremonies upon a Minbari ship. “Nothing extravagent. I think we’ve all had our fill of complications, these last few months. I just want to make this official.”

“It will be a human ceremony,” Delenn explained, glancing at Sheridan for confirmation. He nodded, and she smiled. “We decided that to go through with a Minbari wedding ritual would take too much time. For now, at least.” That sounded like the concession of some argument between them, and Lennier tried to be charitable, to put aside anger at the thought of Delenn being denied her right to a proper ritual. _He refuses her this, because it is inconvenient? Were it me, I could deny her nothing..._

That way lay madness, and in that moment of doubt, of questioning, he felt a shadow fall on his soul. Long practice helped him to push it away, but he felt as though it still lingered at the edges of his thoughts, ready to tug at his mind in another moment of weakness.

“Of course, Delenn.” He bowed his head. _Understanding is not required_ , his training whispered - _only obedience._ There were times when, to protect her, he had willingly let that virtue fall by the wayside. Those days, at least for the moment, had passed. When there was time, he would meditate, and pray for the strength to continue on this path... for now, he had only to accept.

“Lennier?”

He lifted his head and forced the vestige of a smile. “Apologies, Delenn - I was remembering something else that must be done. What will you require for this ceremony?”

“Nothing,” she said, smiling back at him and standing to take his hands, “except your blessing, and your presence. You are my dearest friend here, and I cannot imagine taking this step without you at my side as you have been for every other step of my journey.” And, to his surprise, it was true - there was no pity in her eyes, as he had seen a few days before when they discussed Marcus. There was only joy and hope, and he already knew that it wasn’t in his soul to deny her anything that brought either of those to her heart. If this was her desire, he would do whatever was needed to make it happen.

He let his smile become a bit more honest, and hoped that if she could see a bit of the sadness in his heart, she would take it only for a moment of reflection on the changes of the last two years. “I will be honored to do this, and stand with you. As always,” he added, and bowed again.

The gratitude in her smile was almost enough to outshine his misgivings, and he was not unaware that Sheridan looked rather relieved, as well. The human loved her, too, after all - of that there was no doubt, even if his ways of showing it were often quite alien to Lennier’s sensibilities. And yet... Sheridan knew nothing of what Delenn had sacrificed for him, of the agonies she had gone through for her people and for the right to stay with him. _Can he ever truly understand her?_ , a small, rebellious, dangerous part of his mind whispered. _Can he truly love her without knowing her fully?_

 _Can any know her truly?_ Delenn was exalted beyond such matters - she was chosen, and her destiny, Lennier suspected, went beyond what either he or Captain Sheridan could comprehend. And Sheridan had surely made his own sacrifices for his part in prophecy. It was not Lennier’s place to question, or to doubt either of them. Only to serve. Strange, what comfort could be derived from simply knowing one’s position, being fully aware of what was expected and what was to be done.

“If you will send me a list of the necessary preparations, I will see them done,” he assured Delenn. “And I will do what I can to hold off other demands on your time, until a suitable interval has passed.”

“Thank you, Lennier.”

He bowed to both of them this time, and retreated from the warmth of the look Delenn cast at Sheridan. No good would come of testing the strength of his convictions - it was better to focus on the tasks at hand, and pursuit through meditation of the purity of spirit that would allow him to follow through on those tasks.

* * *

 _Walking alone_  
_At the hour when we are_  
 _Trembling with tenderness_  
 _Lips that would kiss_  
 _Form prayers to broken stone._

The single candle lit just enough of his small room to leave the rest of the small confines largely to the imagination. That was a benefit of darkness - in his mind, he could replace the close metal walls with the stone and crystal that had surrounded him in temple. In dim candlelight, his mind could reach the same calm that he had known as a very young acolyte, innocent of the machinations of power and the myriad small wounds to honesty and honor that participation in the world could bring. He did not exactly regret the change - Babylon 5 and his position here were a constant source of fascination and growth, and he could no longer imagine his life without Delenn - but there were times when he missed the simplicity of his earlier life back home.

He knelt before the flame and focused all of his mind on it. Took a moment of silent reflection, let the day’s events pass over him in a rush of images and emotions that now seemed distant, controlled. And then began to whisper the familiar, ancient words.

For the first time, today, he prayed for the new alliance and its fragile union. So much depended on its strength, and so little held it up - really, it rested solely on the personal charisma and wisdom of both Sheridan and Delenn. He had faith in Delenn’s power to lead, but much could still go wrong - they had passed through the valley of dying stars, into an open plain of possibilities no less perilous, and entirely unknown. Kingdoms and councils had been lost to the sands of less uncertain times. On top of very real fears about what it would mean for all their races if this alliance broke, he knew that it would crush Delenn’s heart to fail in this. And so he prayed.

Next, as he had done every night for the week since the other man’s death, he prayed the spirit of Marcus Cole. Technically, an honorable death, chosen freely, should not have been the subject of much prayer or contemplation, but Lennier felt a connection to the Ranger... and a degree of responsibility for his end. The human would not have discovered the device, most likely, if not for Lennier’s unfortunate choice of words on the bridge of the White Star. One small prevarication, a lie of only the most delicate omission, and Marcus might yet be among them. But Commander Ivanova would be dead, and Lennier had no doubt that this latest failure might be the last fissure that would shatter Marcus’ heart. Better to die for one he loved than to be broken by another loss whose blame he would take on himself.

 _For what it is worth, my friend, I am sorry for the part I played in your end. But I understand your choice._ Once the path had been chosen, there was no other way to walk and still be true to one’s heart - Marcus could no more have allowed Ivanova to die than Lennier could let Delenn slip away into the night to face her trials alone, as she so often seemed intent on doing. She meant to spare her friends, he knew, just as Ivanova had meant to take her death well, to accept it with her customary, cynical strength. Love made both of those choices unacceptable.

His last prayer of the night, as had been true for four years that seemed like forever, was for Delenn herself. He prayed that she would be safe and well, that her great hopes for the universe would not be disappointed, and that destiny and all those around her - himself most of all - could find some way to live up to the goodness that she saw. _Help me to be steady beside her path through shadows and dying stars. Help me to do what she needs of me, and..._

He paused, and thought of Marcus again, and the simple, determined sacrifice that had ended his wanderings. And then he thought of Delenn again, and her peaceful, radiant trust. The strength of her convictions and the beauty of her soul. Compared to her destiny, his fears and worries were the meaningless whispers of a voiceless man in a land of dead stone, unable to raise his eyes to a sky filled with distant stars. Love for her was like love for those stars - it mattered not a bit to the stars, but meant everything to the ones below. Endless devotion, endless supplication, in the hope that his love never _would_ mean anything great, never would change the path of destiny as Marcus’ had, because if it did... if it came down to his simple flailings, that meant that something greater had failed. The currents she was involved in now were greater than anything he could hope to turn aside alone.

 _Let me be to her like the whisperings of wind on crystal_ , he thought - _the smallest comfort in times when she needs me, and nothing worth noticing when greater things are at hand. The stillborn hopes of love must now be laid completely to rest. Nothing must remain but duty and devotion to the object of love that would never be returned._ It was the end to a world that had never begun, and a dream that had absorbed his mind for too long. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. And prayed.

The end of the world was a quiet thing, a silence that drew him away from the frantic murmurings of ego and idea.

It died with only the smallest whimper.


End file.
